Christmas in the Bunker
by stargaza
Summary: Little Christmas ficlet. After discovering the bunker, it is Dean's goal to take away they're worries for one day through Christmas decorations and food. Sam, however, is not in the mood.


**AN: I have decided to write three different ficlets for Sherlock, Doctor Who, and Sherlock. If you haven't read the others, please read them! Enjoy, and Merry Christmas!**

Christmas in the Bunker

"Up and at 'em Sammy!" Dean's voice shocks Sam from his restless sleep against the library's table. "Ungggggghhhhhh…" Sam groans. He blinks sleepily. "What? What is it?" Dean smiles and gestures at the bunker. They had been staying at the bunker for a few weeks to settle in and try to find a new case, but none had arrived. As Sam's blurry vision starts to clear, he realizes that the room is clearly brighter. "Wha-?" There are a bundle of multicolored lights hanging down from the ceiling. The most obnoxious color of red, shiny tinsel draping the railway of the stairway. Even a large tree has been constructed next to the blinking panels. "Merry Christmas, Sammy!" Dean beams.

Sam grumbles and lays his head back down on the glass table. "Oh, come on! I know we may not have had the best Christmases in the past, but-"

"But nothing, Dean!" Sam interrupts. "We have more important things to do than sit down with a gallon of eggnog and crap presents from the dollar mart down the street! We have to find the demon tablet before Crowley kills Kevin or us."

"Yea sure, but come on man, it's Christmas!" Dean throws up his hands excitedly. "Just for one day?" He tries, and fails miserably, at recreating Sam's puppy dog eyes. Sam sighs and gazes at Dean, giving him his classic bitch-face.

"Fine!" he says, getting up and stretching. Dean smiles and collects the books that Sam had been studying the night before. "Good, 'cause I already made breakfast and got you gifts!" Dean throws the books down on the table in a more unorganized heap then before and rushes into the kitchen. He returns a few minutes later balancing plates of eggs, bacon, waffles, and other breakfast foods. Sam stares at the food with an open jaw. "When's the last time you cooked breakfast?" Dean shrugs, stuffing bacon into his mouth.

After they finished eating, Dean literally drags Sam over to the tree, smiling cheekily as he handed Sam a package. Sam looks at him in surprise, muttering a, "but I didn't-" 

"I don't care," interrupts Dean. "I'm just glad that you're actually going along with this. You've been under so much stress lately with the trials and-"

"I get it Dean!" Sam laughs which quickly dissolves into coughing and gagging on some dark red blood which Dean immediately wipes at with a napkin. "Just, take it easy. Okay?" Dean looks worriedly at his brother. Sam nods weakly and goes to tear at the wrapping paper, expecting some crappy joke involving beer and a certain provocative magazine, but instead removed the lid of the box to reveal a beautiful gun, a Colt 1911 A1, nickel-plated, just like Dean's. There were engravings on the side of different monsters they've defeated: a wendigo, dragons, demons, and so much more. Sam runs his callous fingers over them lightly. He turns the gun over and gasps. There are the names of everyone they've loved and they've lost. Mom, Dad, Jess, Amy, etc. He raises a trembling hand and strokes each name, the tears running down his face without meaning to. Dean simply smiles, knowing that no words can describe his elation.

Sam sniffs and holds out a finger, signaling Dean to wait as he heads down the hall. Dean is puzzled and curious, but waits patiently as Sam comes in the room with something clutched in his hand. "I didn't know when to give this to you, and I know it's not much but-" He holds out his hand and drops the small object into Dean's open palm. Dean immediately looks up, shocked. "But I-"

"I fished it out," Sam smiles. Sitting in Dean's hand is his old amulet. The one he had thrown into the trash can of a crappy motel as a sign of mistrust and disloyalty. He had regret his actions almost every day, missing the one key token of their bond from their childhood. "Sammy, I can't-" Dean tries to say something, but fails, so he simply stands up and pulls his brother to his chest, silently thanking him. As he pulls away, he slips the cord around his neck and untucks it from his shirt, the small amulet gleaming in the neon lights.

"Best. Christmas. Ever!" Dean says with a smile, and leaves to pop the turkey in the oven, a sense of joy and hope surrounding him. And he clings to it, knowing it might be the only good emotions he'll feel in the coming weeks.


End file.
